Brave men always have options

Nga Bhasitali bheera omuruki wewe, Nabhongo Bhenaa kachaa nende liicheeshi liewe omwo na arema bhuli mundu.

(When the citizens of Sitali killed the governor he had sent them, King Baenar took his army into the city and slaughtered every last one of them.)

- Sourced from "Wars Of The Subaephyr Baenar VIII" by Rogar Horaxus Plowbhurg, a historian at The Academy of Caedmyria.

Allara ground her teeth and suppressed a scream as the lashes struck her back. She refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry.

Her mind went back to when it all began: a warm late autumn day ten years gone. The last day before her life started going horribly wrong. She desperately wanted that day back.

On the day her life took a turn for the worst, Allara was sweeping. Allara loathed sweeping. She hated housework in general but despised sweeping in particular. All that damned dust! It got everywhere. It got in her nose and made her sneeze, clouded her vision, and coated her feet.

They had slaves for this kind of thing but her parents, especially her mother, Melilla, insisted on Allara and her brother helping around the house. Something about humility and a work ethic. "You can't have slaves do everything for you. When would you ever learn?" Melilla liked asking. Then she would continue, "Growing up, we didn't have slaves. I had to do everything for myself."

So Allara swept.

Her brother, as was his habit, had neglected his share of the work entirely. Only the gods knew where he was. Little Bogdyr always got some slave or another to do his housework for him by promising great favors in future when he grew into his position. While Bogdyr was indeed their father's heir, he was all of six years old.

And just as she was cursing that dirty duty-derelicting little demon, he came running into the courtyard. "Alla! Alla!" he shouted. "Papa's ship. It's coming."

"Is he on it?" Allara asked.

"Of course not," Little Bogdyr said. "He's hiding under that chair." Little Bodgyr pointed at a wicker chair on the porch.

To her enduring shame, Allara swiveled her head to take a look. She had moved without thinking and by the time she realized it, it was too late. But she looked anyway. There was nothing under the chair. Just a patch of dust she had forgotten to sweep.

Behind her, the cheeky little miscreant erupted into mocking laughter. The laughter grated at Allara. It tormented her and frayed her nerves. The more she heard it, the more she hated it. Her embarrassment melted away and was replaced by rage.

Allara dumped her broom and lunged at Little Bogdyr, growling in anger. He darted out of her way and took off chuckling. "I will kill you!" Allara screamed. "You tiny three-foot monster. I will kill you!"

Allara chased after Little Bogdyr but he was too quick. He weaved and bobbed through the streets of Salandport, periodically pausing to shout taunts at her. She caught up with him in the harbor, by which time she was huffing and puffing and wanted to lie down. But then she saw her father.

He was standing on the quay, conversing with a customs inspector. Allara forgot all about Little Bogdyr. "Papa!" she called and ran. Stefan Vindeler picked her up mid-sprint, launched her into the air while she giggled, then caught her and hugged her.

"My girl," he said with a smile as he squeezed her against his chest. "My little girl." Allara smiled and felt her entire body grow warm, like she had the sun inside her. No one could hurt her. No one could taunt her. Not with her father here.

"Stefan Vadimus, the tariffs…" the customs inspector said.

"Rillard can handle them," Stefan Vindeler said and waved at his captain. "What are you doing here?" he asked Allara as he moved away from the dock.

"Bogdyr i—"

"Alla Alla is a tattletale. She told on me to papa. Alla Alla is a tattletale," Little Bogdyr interrupted in an annoying singsongy tone.

"I am not a tattletale," Allara protested.

"Yes, you are."

"I am not!"

"Children, children, quiet," their father cut in. "Bogdyr, don't you want to say hello to your father?"

Bogdyr offered his father his right hand. "A handshake?" Stefan Vindeler asked. "You don't want to hug your father?"

"I'm not a scared little girl. I don't need to be held," Little Bogdyr said with an obstinate shake of his head.

Allara didn't care how many times Little Bogdyr called her a little girl. The insult had lost its sting with overuse. She made a face at him instead. With an exasperated sigh, Stefan Vindeler shook his son's tiny hand. Then he ruffled the boy's hair. That got Little Bogdyr grinning from ear to ear.

"Growing into quite a little man there," Stefan Vindeler said.

"Certainly," Bogdyr agreed. "I can run faster than Alla now."

"I was tired," Allara said. "I'm faster than you."

"Let's race," Little Bogdyr offered. Then the boy screamed, "Maamaaa!" as he was launched into the air by a large pair of hands grasping him under the armpits. "Maamaaa!" Little Bogdyr shrieked as he flailed his legs and clawed at the air. Their cousin Big Bogdyr put Little Bogdyr down and collapsed laughing on the ground.

"Who's the terrified little girl now?" Allara mocked from the safety of her father's arms. "Little Papa cried for his mama. Maamaaa!"

"I was not scared!" Little Bogdyr insisted. "I am brave and fearless. That's my battle cry." Then he turned on Big Bogdyr and started pummeling him with his puny fists. "You fool! Never sneak up on me again. Do you know how dangerous I am? I could have killed you."

Big Bogdyr merely laughed at the excuses and the pounding. He was sixteen and as tall as their father. Little Bogdyr could punch him but he couldn't hope to inflict any pain.

Even Stefan Vindeler sat down to watch the spectacle with a wry smile. Little Bogdyr punched Big Bogdyr until he grew tired and stopped to catch his breath. "I missed you too, cousin," Big Bogdyr said with a hand on Little Bogdyr's shoulder. Big Bogdyr sitting on the ground was nearly as tall as Little Bogdyr was standing. Little Bogdyr tried to glare at the older boy then but broke into a smile.

"How is your mother?" Stefan Vindeler asked Allara as Big Bogdyr and Little Bogdyr ran toward the ship.

"She's fine. Said she would remarry if you didn't return by the end of the lichum."

"Did she now?" Stefan Vindeler asked with one of his curious smiles.

"Yes," Allara said with a nod. Her mother had made similar threats before when her father was delayed on one of his voyages. She had never remarried.

"Then it's a good thing I'm back," Stefan Vindeler said. "How about Julia?"

"She was sleeping. Started crawling last lichum."

"Wow. And you, my dear? What have you been doing besides fighting with your brother?"

"I learned the multiplication table. All of it. From one to ten."

"Really?"

"Yes, father. Ask me anything."

"Nine times nine?"

"81."

"Seven times six?"

"42."

"Eleven times thirteen?"

"I haven't learned that one yet," Allara said.

"Can you do it by hand?" her father asked.

"Yes." After some scribbling in the sand with a stick, she gave him the answer, "143."

Stefan Vindeler checked her work and nodded, "Very good."

Allara beamed. "You said you would take me on a voyage, father."

"I will. When you're older," Stefan Vindeler promised. Then he took her hand and led her towards the ship. "Now let me show you what I brought you."

Two of her father's ships, Vadim's Sweat and Aemeia's Delight, were in port. Vadim's Sweat was the oldest of the six ships Allara's father owned yet it was the one he insisted on sailing himself. Her mother had urged him to decommission the vessel multiple times but Stefan Vindeler, a man sometimes mocked for being "sat on the head" by his wife, had stubbornly refused.

He had inherited the ship from his father and refused to give it up. It was the first ever ship any Vindeler ever owned. It was already an old vessel when her grandfather Vadim Vindeler bought and renamed it. Allara's grandfather and her uncle Little Vadim had gotten lost at sea while sailing on another ship years before she was born. 19 years old at the time, Stefan Vindeler had repaired the then-derelict Vadim's Sweat and taken over the family business.

He acquired more ships over the years but never sailed them himself. Vadim's Sweat was the only vessel he ever captained. He patched up the ancient cog and kept it afloat no matter what anyone else thought. "None of the original planks are left and my poor Stefan still thinks it's the same ship," Melilla often said.

Vadim's Sweat hadn't been unloaded yet but porters crawled over Aemeia's Delight, her father's newest great cog. They unloaded barrels of wine and olive oil, bales of cloth, from the roughest wools to the finest silks, ingots of steel, reams of paper, jars of inks, and wooden chests containing all manner of craft goods from delicate porcelain dinnerware to spy glasses and intricate bronze statuettes.

The dockside was crowded with her father's customers and employees alike. Blacksmiths and cloth merchants who had placed their orders before he set sail were already carting away their goods. Others were busy haggling with Stefan Vindeler's agents.

The customs inspector still hung around as well. There was nothing much for him to do. Her father's ships were the only trading vessels he had seen in days. Salandport's harbor saw two or three ships dock every day in spring and summer. The traffic slowed down as the year wore on. With the onset of winter in five days, the customs inspector would be lucky to see another merchant ship before the new year.

Stefan Vindeler skillfully extricated himself from a throng of would-be customers, instructing them to deal with his subordinates, and led Allara onto the deck of Vadim's Sweat. The old cog was crowded with pig pens. More pigs than Allara had ever seen in one place before. They oinked and grunted and stank even worse.

"Why do you have so many pigs here?" Allara asked.

"Some farmers paid me to bring them from Rhexia. I bought this lot in Caedmyria."

"Don't you always say never sail far for what you can acquire close by?" Allara asked.

"Yes," Stefan Vindeler agreed.

"Then why bring pigs all the way from Rhexia when we have pigs here in Salandria?"

"They're not the same kind of pigs, Alla," Stefan Vindeler explained. He showed her a caged sow nearly as large as a cow. "Salandrian pigs farrow once, sometimes twice a year and have litters of four or five piglets. These Rhexian pigs, in addition to being larger, farrow three times a year, and the smallest litter has 12 piglets. Some have fifteen."

"Fifteen piglets from one pig?" Allara asked open-mouthed.

"Yes, fifteen piglets, three times a year so long as you feed them. The newborn piglets are ready for breeding after just five months. Our pigs here require nine months before they're old enough to breed."

"You're giving me one?" Allara asked.

"No." Stefan Vindeler laughed. "We're not keeping a pig in the house. But your grandfather has several. You can see them when you visit him. Let me show you what I brought you."

Her father led her past the pig pens and stopped in front of a cage with a furry white animal inside. It was slightly bigger than a cat but it was no cat. It had large brown eyes and a small black snout, the only spots of a color other than white on its body. Its fur was as long as a person's hair. "What's this?" Allara asked.

"It's a dog."

"But it's so small. And that fur. It's as long as hair."

"It's a northern dog," Stefan Vindeler explained. "I bought it in Drapes' End. Do you know where that is?"

"It's in the north," Allara answered.

"Not specific enough."

Allara hadn't expected him to turn this into a geography lesson but it was just her luck to have Stefan Vindeler for a father. Allara recited everything she knew about Drapes' End. She told him of its exact location, population, how far it was from Salandport, and even the best time to sail there. She had memorized similar facts about every sizeable city in the 100 Realms. Her father insisted on it.

"Imports and exports?" her father pressed.

"Drapes' End exports ice, furs, bear and seal pelts, wool, wheat, whale oil, amber, iron, apples, timber, cheeses, and horses. It imports rice, wine, olive, oil, salt, silk, linen, cotton, porcelain, glassware, dyes, and spices."

"Very good, Alla. A merchant must know his market. I shall make one of you yet." Stefan Vindeler ruffled her hair and Allara puffed with pride.

Her father unlocked the cage, scooped out the ball of fur, and placed it in her hands. It was soft, light, and warm, like all the good things. It looked at her with those large guileless eyes, whimpered, and stuck out its tongue. Allara fell in love. "Is it a puppy?" she asked her father.

"No. It's a fully grown dog. They don't get larger than that. What will you name it?"

"Fluffy," Allara said without thinking.

Stefan Vindeler narrowed his eyes and then shrugged. "Fluffy it is."

Allara emerged onto the deck to find the two Bogdyrs racing around the largely empty harbor on the backs of Gogo and Dingo, two of her father's giant manatees. These were the beasts Stefan Vindeler used to tow his ships across the seas. Many merchants never bothered with keeping sea cows. They relied entirely on the wind.

Stefan Vindeler preferred sailing against the wind on long-distance voyages, hence the manatees. "Less competition for me at port," he explained when Allara asked why he always sailed in the direction opposite the one other merchants were taking.

While Big Bogdyr and Little Bogdyr tried to urge their mounts through the water, the lazy sea cows just glided about at their customary sedate pace, unconcerned with the competition. The race could more accurately be labeled a crawl. "Alla!" Little Bogdyr shouted. "Take Ati. It's a girl like you. Come race us." He pointed at the third manatee.

Ati, a giant 30-foot-long sea cow, and her calf Oti were chewing their way through a small mountain of cut grass on the jetty. A flock of seabirds feasted on the algae and barnacles crusting their thick gray-brown skin.

Allara shrugged. She didn't want to disturb the sea cows. She preferred ponies anyway. The mounts of Big Bogdyr and Little Bogdyr suddenly became animated, squealing loudly and swimming for the shore at uncharacteristically high speeds. The giant sea cows clumsily clambered onto the pier with their flippers while Big Bogdyr and Little Bogdyr hung to the harnesses around the animals' necks.

The manatees kept squealing even on dry land. Ati and Oti started squealing too. Allara followed their gaze. In the distance, a ship with emerald green sails appeared on the southern horizon. The sails enlarged and as the ship grew closer the sigil on them became visible: the golden mermaid of House Salandbhurg. The vessel was Queen Ista Ina, Smandan Salandbhurg's sleek war galley, the only ship in Salandport that was towed by sharks.

These sharks were the cause of the manatees' distress. Their red fins sliced the water like swords. Their speed was incredibly fast, a far cry from the crawl of sea cows. The manatees squealed louder as the pair of sharks approached but they didn't run. They knew they were safe on land. All the men in port watched the kings of the sea in awe. They couldn't see much, just the exposed fins poking above the surface of the water but that was enough.

Queen Ista Ina pulled into port and a handler released the sharks from their harnesses. They vanished under the waves, prompting the manatees to cease their squealing. Queen Ista Ina propelled itself for the last few hundred feet into its berth with oars.

The first man off the ship was the dashing Sir Smandan The Gallant, Lord Danil's eldest son. Sir Smandan was a peerless pirate hunter and warrior who always had a ready smile for everyone. "My apologies for scaring your sea cows, Stefan Vadimus," he said with one of his charming smiles.

"It's no matter, Young Smandan. They get a tad nervous around sharks. It would be a foolish animal that didn't," Stefan Vindeler replied. Everyone called Sir Smandan Young Smandan even though he was in his mid-thirties. Partly it was because he looked so young, but mostly it was because his uncle, another Smandan, went by Old Smandan.

Smandan Salandbhurg flashed another winning smile. "They're very well behaved, Anti Neni and Sifu Nani. I keep them well-fed. Wouldn't harm a sardine."

A second man disembarked the ship behind Sir Smandan. He was flanked by a gaggle of servants. The man could pass for Sir Smandan, if Young Smandan was two inches shorter and ten times gloomier. Allara had never seen him before but she knew him anyway. Lord Danil's second son. The one who served in King Daegan's court.

"My Lord Masden," Stefan Vindeler said with a gasp and a smile. "You're taller than I am now. What brings you to this backwater city of ours?"

"My father is dead, Stefan Vadimus," Masden Salandbhurg said, annoyance tinting his voice.

"Please forgive me," Allara's father apologized. "I just returned from a four-month voyage. I didn't know. Lord Danil was the very picture of health when I left. What happened, Young Smandan?"

"A cold. It settled in his lungs. Nothing could be done."

"My condolences. I will leave you to your mourning. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

Smandan Slandbhurg gave a polite nod. "We will."

"Say, do you still have those Volscion caramelized plums? I couldn't find any in Pharasandria. I've missed them terribly," Masden Salandbhurg asked.

"Most certainly, my lord Masden."

"Still a half a silver?"

"No charge. Consider it a welcome home present. They're on the other ship. I will have my nephew bring you a case as soon as it's unloaded." Stefan Vindeler pointed at Big Bogdyr.

Masden Slandbhurg nodded and climbed into a waiting carriage alongside his brother, leaving servants to unload their ship.

"Why didn't any of you fools tell me Lord Danil was dead?" Stefan Vindeler barked as soon as the Salandbhurgs were gone.

"We were going to, Master Stefan," a porter said. "You were so insistent on getting the ships unloaded quickly. There was no time. We didn't expect you to run into them so soon."

"When did this happen?" Stefan Vindeler asked.

"17 days ago, Master Stefan," the same porter answered.

"And the funeral?"

"The date hasn't been announced yet. It should be soon now that Lord Masden is back from Pharasandria."

Allara thought it curious that the Salandbhurg ship had come from the southeast. Pharasandria was northwest of Salandport. To the southeast was Maevi'i, enemy territory.

It took 12 days after Masden Salandbhurg's return for the funeral to be held. The Vindelers, while not nobility, had become one of Salandport's more prominent families thanks to the efforts of Allara's father and those of his father before him. As Grand Master of the Wine Merchants' Guild and a member of the citymaster's advisory council, Stefan Vindeler and his family got very respectable seats, just a tad inferior to those of actual noblemen and grand masters of more prominent guilds.

They arrived early at the racecourse outside the city walls where the cremation was to be held. The racecourse sat 20,000 and was full already. Danil Salandbhurg had been well-liked.

The crowd was abuzz but the rumor that excited them was an entirely different one: the Subaephyr Daegan XIII, King of Kings, 97th Wearer of The Purple Hat, and ruler of the 100 Realms, was dead. The juicier part was that his wife was covering it up and pretending everything was fine.

The rumor was an old one by this point. It had been spreading all across the 100 Realms for the better part of two years. Stefan Vindeler had dismissed it as idle chatter but now that Masden Salandbhurg, an astronomer at the royal court, had confirmed it, even he was convinced.

The coverup of kingly deaths wasn't unprecedented. 200 years ago, Baenar The Beheader's grandmother, Aesandria The Cunning, had hidden her husband's death from the public and ruled secretly in his name for seven years until Baenar's brother Pharas X was old enough to wear the crown. King Daegan's only son, another Prince Pharas, was 16, four years too young to rule.

Many speculated about events in far-off Pharasandria and whether there would be a war over the succession. Aesandria The Cunning had covered Pharas the Builder's death to prevent her husband's brothers from seizing The Purple Hat from her grandson. King Daegan did have two brothers.

Baeon The Bard had actually been king before Daegan The Good but abdicated in favor of his brother for undisclosed health reasons. This hadn't stopped people from assuming he was mad. He had become a singer after stepping down from the throne, an unusual career path for one of his standing.

Many speculated that Baeon The Bard would return to the Amber Throne, even arguing that he would have a stronger claim than Daegan The Good's son should he choose to press it. Others insisted that the Subaephyr's younger brother, Prince Caedmyr The Navigator, was the likelier usurper.

The Navigator was younger, more vigorous, more popular, and blessedly sane. He also had the bulk of the army with him, fighting the pirate peoples of Khwhefia.

Melilla Vindeler dismissed all those speculations as nonsense. "The Navigator is too honorable," she insisted. She would know. Her father had served as a ship carpenter on eight of The Navigator's famous 14 voyages and had come to know the adventurer prince intimately.

Allara had heard tales of those voyages at her grandfather's knee countless times. Then her father made her read the written accounts for good measure.

"Can't we just mourn Lord Danil instead of speculating about wars?" Stefan Vindeler begged.

"Are you sad, my darling?" Melilla asked.

"The world has lost a great man in Danil Salandbhurg," Alllara's father stated. "Of course, I'm sad."

"And you, my love, have lost your best customer. That's the true tragedy here," Melilla quipped.

"Can't a man love his customers, Melilla?"

"Melilla?" Allara's mother asked with raised brows.

"My darling," Stefan Vindeler self-corrected. "I was just saying that a man can love his customers. I loved Lord Danil."

Melilla smiled at the endearment. "More than me?"

"Of course not," Stefan Vindeler said.

"Good," Melilla said with a nod of her head and brushed her husband's cheek. "Here he comes."

Everyone in the racecourse rose as Lord Danil's family entered bearing a goldenwood bier. On it was the body of Danil Smandanus Salandbhurg, wrapped in an emerald green shroud. His surviving brother, Old Smandan, two sons, and one nephew held each corner of the bier. The rest of the Salandbhurgs, half a hundred men, women, and children, marched behind the pallbearers in a mute procession.

Guardsmen in Salandbhurg livery brought up the rear, singing the Warriors' Dirge. Danil Salandbhurg hadn't earned the Warriors' Dirge. He had neither died in battle nor lived past seventy but no one objected. Nobody wanted to be pedantic about him dying at 68 so the whole crowd joined in the dirge.

The Salandbhurgs marched the bier to a pyre constructed in the center of the racecourse. The stands which were always filled with rowdy fans during chariot races and liifun matches were so quiet Allara could hear the breathing of those around her.

With the bier on the pyre, a priest performed final rites on the corpse. The priest didn't wear the robes of any of the four priestly orders of Aeduianism. A few people narrowed their eyes but said nothing.

"We're here to celebrate the life of Danil, son of Smandan," Lord Danil's brother, Old Smandan, announced once the final rites were complete. "He passed away just four days before his 69th birthday. In his youth, Danil served as Townmaster of Marcinum Ravine, then Citymaster of Confluencia and Marshal of Central Rhexia."

Old Smandan continued, "At the age of seven, Danil inherited some of the ancient titles of our house: Defender of Salandport, Keeper of The Emerald Crown, Lord of Salandria, and Archon of The Archipelago."

Allara got a strange feeling from the way Old Smandan said "some." The Salandbhurgs had been kings two centuries ago, back when their name was still Antinen and Salandport was called Kwa'Antineni. But that had been before Baenar The Beheader's coronation. Baenar VIII banned any man other than himself from using the title of king.

The Beheader hadn't stopped at stripping his vassals of their royal titles. He took away all their hereditary power and vested it in governors that he could appoint and dismiss at will. This started a war, which The Beheader won, and his system remained in place.

Noblemen desiring any actual power had to serve in the army and prove themselves worthy of a royal administrative appointment. One of those royal appointees, the actual ruler of Salandria, Keir Mekhbhurg, stood squirming at Old Smandan's words a couple of paces from the pyre.

While Young Smandan would become the new Defender of Salandport, Keeper of The Emerald Crown, Lord of Salandria, and Archon of The Archipelago after his father, those titles were entirely ceremonial.

The Salandbhurgs were a relic of a bygone era. Former kings who had actual no power other than the prestige their name granted them. Judicial, administrative, and military power over the islands of the archipelago rested with Keir Rymanus Mekhbhurg, Citymaster of Salandport, Marshal of Salandria, and Subrhex of Chumbia. He held the appointment for a five-year term he was now in the middle of.

Keir Mekhbhurg looked like he wanted to say something at Old Smandan's provocation but restrained himself. Old Smandan spoke of Lord Danil's childhood, then his youth, his military service in the royal army and his decorations, his appointments to administrative positions in mainland provinces, and finally his retirement back home in Salandport.

Old Smandan told the people of how Lord Danil had always interceded on their behalf with the various governors the King of Kings had dispatched to rule the islands on his behalf over the years. He drew a few chuckles when he used the derogatory term bhebaara (dust-breathing inland donkeys) to describe these administrators from mainland Bhai Andium. This made Lord Keir's face turn red with rage but you never interrupt a eulogy.

Once Old Smandan was done, he lit his brother's pyre. The silence continued as Lord Danil's body burned. It was after nearly an hour, with the flames flagging, that Old Smandan motioned for everyone to sit. The muttering started immediately.

This muttering was interrupted by trumpets. From one of the circuit's entrances, a column of men entered. These were olive-skinned and had dark brown hair like Salandrians but they were tall and lithe instead of short and stocky. Maevites.

The Maevites bore red banners with white dragons emblazoned on them. The emperor's standard. The crowd quieted as servants set up a dais. Lord Keir was apoplectic. He started shouting and gesticulating wildly but Salandbhurg guardsmen restrained him and slaughtered his outnumbered guards when they tried to intervene. Stefan Vindeler groaned, Melilla shook her head, and Allara shivered. Big Bogdyr looked disgusted. Only Little Bogdyr seemed taken by the spectacle.

A tall Maevite man in lush robes of gold-trimmed scarlet and violet climbed onto the dais. "People of Salindriya," he said in lightly accented Rhexi. "I am Valkivar Ufalmid, Crown Prince of The Empire of Maevi'i. I bear the blood of Manimar The Great in mine veins. The blood of gods and dragons.

"I bring you greetings from my deified father, The Master of Dragons, The Universal Ruler, King of The Four Corners of The Earth, His Radiant Magnificence, Karikar, the second of his name, Emperor of all the lands of men.

"I come here to mourn with you. To mourn Lord Danil, who should have been your king. My people and yours have been wounded by Rhexians. They have not colonized and ruled us as they rule you but they slaughtered my fathers just like they slaughtered yours. They burned our cities just like they burned yours, and they extracted mountains of gold in tribute from us just like they keep extracting from you.

"Salindriya was never so great as when it was ruled by Anti Neni The Unifier and his descendants. Now under Rhexia's rule, you are a backwater. A mere province on the periphery of the Rhexian empire instead of the most powerful kingdom in the Emerald Sea, this great sea the unimaginative Rhexians call Sechia. Your Lord Danil told me that your King Daegan never visited these islands when he wore the crown. Now he is dead. His brother never visited either when he was king and neither did their father. The last of your Rhexian kings to visit these islands was Daegan's grandfather Baeon The Burner, who burned our great city of Ringarde, murdered our dragon hatchlings, and stole our dragon eggs. He visited you so long ago everybody alive then is dead now.

"A new dragon has been hatched in Manimara and Daegan The Degenerate is dead. His only heir is a cowardly boy and his brother The Navigator is losing a war to uncivilized pirates. It is time for vengeance against Rhexia. Vengeance for your fathers. Vengeance for 200 years of colonialism and oppression. You don't worship the gods of your fathers anymore. You sacrifice to those of your conquerors. Some of your children don't even speak your tongue. They speak Rhexi. Is that fair?"

"Noooo!" a section of the crowd howled. Everybody else was quiet.

Valkivar Ufalmid continued, "It is time for Salindriya to be ruled by Salindriyans again, for the benefit of all Salindriyans. Your gold should stay here, not shipped off to adorn Rhexian cities. You should own your land, not Rhexian settlers. You should worship your gods and speak your own tongue again, not that of Rhexians. My father, the Deified Karikar, endorses Smandan Antinen, descendant of Anti Neni The Unifier, as king of all Salindriyans. The emperor will stand by you should the Rhexians react with their customary aggression. Salindriya for Salindriyans!"

"Salandria for Salandrians!" the same section of the crowd that had screamed "No!" bellowed back.

As the fanatical section of the crowd chanted, Young Smandan walked up to the dais and knelt. The strange foreign priest crowned him with The Emerald Crown, the old crown of the kings of Salandria. Many royal houses of the 100 Realms had rebelled against The Beheader and lost their crowns as a result. The Salandbhurgs were one of only three houses that didn't. The Beheader had allowed them to keep their crowns as long as they never dared wear them. Smandan Salandbhurg wore his and stood.

"His Majesty Smandan II, King of Salandria and all the islands of the Chumbian Archipelago!" Old Smandan proclaimed with a hand on his nephew's shoulder. Everyone stood. Young Smandan smiled. He looked good in a crown.

"My people," Young Smandan began, waving his hand in an expansive gesture, "I take this duty you have bestowed upon me very seriously. You can sit."

Everyone sat. Then the new King of Salandria, the first one in 170 years, launched into a long speech. He talked of Salandria's subordination to a distant and uncaring ruler, of the bloody Rhexian conquest 200 years ago, of over-taxation, and of forced Rhexianization.

King Smandan talked of a glorious past of Salandrian self-rule and talked even longer on the moral profligacy of the Rhexbhurg monarchy but Allara barely listened to any of it. She was worrying about the consequences of the coronation. War was coming to Salandria and everyone knew it.

When Young Smandan was done with his speech, he had Keir Mekhbhurg trotted up to him. The subrhex refused to kneel and had to be beaten, forced to his knees, and kept there by a guardsman pressing down heavily on his shoulders while others leveled spears and swords at his neck. "Lord Keir," Young Smandan said. "I will give you the same option you Rhexians gave us. S…"

"I am not a Rhexian!" Keir Mekhbhurg asserted. "I am Mekhrosi."

"Who cares about your minute ethnic differences, you dust-breathing inland donkey?" Young Smandan barked.

"Mekhros has a coastline. We border the Khars Sea, we're not landlocked," Keir Mekhbhurg said with a stubborn jut of his head.

"Regardless," Young Smandan said with a shrug. "You can surrender or you can die. Those are the same options your fathers gave ours."

"And the cravens surrendered," Keir Mekhbhurg mocked. Then he started laughing. "I will never surrender to a slimy Salandrian mongrel like you. Never!"

"You have no choice," the new king of Salandria pointed out.

"Oh, but I do, Young Smandan. I have two full regiments of Baenarites under my command in these islands. That's 10,000 choices right there. You ought to be surrendering to me."

Young Smandan laughed. "Your soldiers are spread out over three dozen islands, Keir. I'll hunt them down in their small groups and exterminate them before they ever link up."

"Good luck with that. I still have 2,000 professional soldiers in this city. They're not even two miles away from here. I wonder how well your farmboys and fishermen will fare against them."

"Your garrison is under siege in their citadel, Keir. They aren't going anywhere with their fortress surrounded. The emperor was kind enough to lend me his professional soldiers. My fishermen and farm boys will fare just fine. You are all alone. Yield and live. We just want our land back. Order your Baenarites to lay down their arms and I will let them go home unharmed. There is no other option."

Keir Mekhbhurg glared at King Smandan. "Brave men always have options."

"Of course," Young Smandan said with a smile. "You have two: surrender or die."

Keir Mekhbhurg returned the smile. He leaned his torso as far back as he could. "I suppose I will die," he said. Then he jerked his body forward in one swift and violent movement, impaling his neck on one of the spears pointed at him.